Coping Version 706
by Phx
Summary: Spoilers for 7.06: Winchesters have terrible coping mechanisms. But they don't really have the luxury for them anymore.


**Spoilers for episode 7.06 'Slash Fiction'. Just a little drabble.**

**Coping. Version 7.06**

Damn.

Dean sighed heavily as he watched his brother walk away. Again. _Story of my frickin' life_, he thought for one bitter second before he reined it back in. This wasn't about him. Not really. It was about him _and_ Sam… and this was so typically _Sam_.

Every time things just got too much for his brother to handle, the kid ran.

Dean knew that that this wasn't about _him_ necessarily though, but about the situation Dean had put them in and… _crap_. He didn't even know anymore why he had done it. Sure, on the surface he hid behind righteous laurels (_you will kill again… it's your nature… blah, blah, blah_) but deeper down he wondered. Was it really so puritanical?

He didn't know and really didn't have the energy to try to sort it out anymore. It had been a mistake; that much he did know. And not even so much for how this was going to affect his brother, but for so much more. It was one death that Dean hadn't needed on his conscience, but had put there himself anyways.

Damn.

And now his brother was doing a runner. No, he corrected scrubbing a hand across his face and watching that broad back pace a small area of the dock in front of him, not running; taking a breather, putting some space between them, trying to keep things together. Trying to keep _Sam_ together.

Coping.

Dean didn't even want to think about how much his brother was already trying to cope with, with Lucifer constantly tugging at Sam's sanity. The kid had been doing so well keeping things under wraps that Dean almost forgot… _almost_… the effort it must be costing Sam to be constantly running that kind of emotional damage control.

And now Sam was running again.

He really wanted to call his brother on his coping mechanism but seeing that Dean drank his own, he wasn't ready to call his Sam's pot, black, to his own dark kettle.

"Winchesters suck," he grumbled as he slammed the trunk shut, squared his shoulders and started towards his brother. Sam might think he needed some alone time but Dean knew better. The only thing that would accomplish now was too much Lucifer, not enough reality, and that wasn't something Dean could let happen.

Why couldn't Sam be more like Dean and just clock him a good one and get it over with? Physical pain was a piece of cake to what he was going to need to put out here… Oh well…

"She was going to be the third witness. At my trial," Dean's voice stopped his brother. "Amy. I know he was going to call her." He could see the muscle twitch in Sam's jaw when his brother turned to look at him.

"Sammy," Dean stood in front of Sam, stepping into his paced out little path. His brother glared at him but didn't say anything. Dean counted it as a win and hoped Sam would actually listen to him. "Look… I – uh – I know I screwed up-"

Sam snorted and started to turn away but Dean reached out and grabbed his arm. "The second I did it… It was like, I dunno, watching the light go out of more than just her eyes-"

Jagged pain paled Sam's face and Dean hated himself for doing this, especially when he'd seen what a difference there had been in his brother in the last few days. An annoyingly happy, jogging-in-the-mornings difference but a difference he was sure _he'd_ helped put there.

"Don't."

The word was laced with such pain it made Dean's resolve waver and he let his hand drop to his side.

Sam shook his head and turned away again. "Just go."

"See that's the thing," Dean's own voice carried an ache. "I can't…"

His brother stopped; his back to Dean, his shoulders tense.

"I don't know what to say to make this better because I can't… I don't even know any more why I did it – I just _did_ it. It used to be easier. Everything was black and white – monsters were monsters and we killed them, but now…?"

Sam slowly turned around to look at him and Dean felt a surge of hope.

"But now, monsters are people too and I just don't know what I'm doing anymore." He dropped his gaze, his whole stance deflating with the admittance.

"She was my friend," Sam reminded after a long moment. "But it was more than that… we were the same-"

"No, Sam," Dean interjected vehemently, looking back at his brother and searching his face, desperate that Sam know this. "You weren't – aren't. Not to me. This wasn't about _you_, Sam, I swear. Not really."

"You can't say that, Dean. You _don't_ understand."

"No, I don't," Dean agreed, swiping his tongue across his lips suddenly nervous. "But I can try – if you let me. Maybe, we can, I don't know? Figure it out for me too, 'cause I just don't know anymore, Sammy… and it scares me."

"Dean…" his name was a sigh. Sam turned his gaze to the side, glancing away from Dean for a long time.

Dean held his breath. He wanted to apologize but knew it was too soon. Finally Sam's shoulders dropped and he looked back at Dean. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his face raw with emotion and Dean fought not to flinch, but there was no hesitation with his reply,

"With my life."

Sam nodded, his adams's apple bobbed before he replied. "Okay then."

"Okay then?" Dean frowned. "That's it?"

"No," admitted Sam hefting his pack over his shoulder and holding out his backpack to Dean. "But it's a start."

"Stone number one?" Dean asked hopefully as took the pack, his eyebrow quirked in question.

"More like minus one, but it's a start," Sam flashed a small smile.

It wasn't much but it was also everything and definitely something they could work with.

The End


End file.
